


joie de vivre

by silentsaint



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, M/M, Married Life, New Year's Eve, Post-Advent Children (Compilation of FFVII), Post-Canon, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaint/pseuds/silentsaint
Summary: There is to be a New Year's Eve party at Seventh Heaven. Cloud dresses accordingly.
Relationships: Sephiroth & Cloud Strife, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Kudos: 53





	joie de vivre

Many things in life are difficult. Many things are arduous, taxing, and frankly dislikeable despite their necessity. And yet humankind continues to do them anyway, either out of habit, purpose, or a sense of dignity.

Cloud holds his breath as he gingerly holds the mascara wand to his eyelid. Smudging it on the makeup below his eyes would be disastrous at this stage, and frankly an annoyance he doesn’t want to deal with. It’s already been difficult enough to apply the concealer smoothly, and to have to redo it would take time he doesn’t have.

...eh. Good enough. Cloud screws the bottle of mascara back up with a satisfying _click._ His lashes aren’t particularly thick, but at the very least they’re naturally long. They look even longer coated in black like this, which is probably the point of it all now that he thinks about it.

Next is the blush, which is a pale rose color and applied with a large and fluffy brush. It feels too odd to force a smile and put it on in the way that Tifa does, so it goes across the front of his cheekbones with a prayer that it doesn’t look too odd like that. Cloud stares at the artificial flush and wonders if it really changes his appearance all that much.

Regardless, now it is the turn of the lipstick, swiped smoothly across his lips a few times easily enough. The color he’d picked out for tonight is a shimmery pink, not too bold but enough of a glow to be obvious. He swears up and down that dark lipstick is too much for him to handle, despite all assurances from his husband to the contrary. 

Husband. Cloud’s scattered train of thought picks up the word and sets down the tube of lipstick. His husband, who has been ready for the better part of an hour, godsdamn him and his efficiency, and is probably vaguely annoyed at him for taking so long. 

At the very least he’s mostly done. Just a small rub of fragrance to his wrists and his neck, and one last check that the silver teardrop earring in his left ear is secure. 

Cloud stops before the mirror, and allows himself a slow exhale. His dress is a pale silver, made from grey organza and tulle in gauzy layers. The sleeves are long and loose and secured around the wrists with white ribbons, the cuffs a ruffle of silver organza. The waist is fairly form fitting, the bodice made of silky grey material embroidered with shimmery thread in the shape of constellations. It falls around his ankles, not quite long enough to restrict movement.

The shoes are high heeled ivory boots, coming up to just past his ankles and decorated with a simple edging of faux pearls. Since it’s winter, a pair of simple grey stockings hug his legs, enough to keep slightly warmer combined with the thinness of the dress.

He looks...a little like one of the faerie godmothers in one of Marlene’s old storybooks. A little less like himself than normal, and a little more like himself than normal.

_I look like Cloud Strife. I know that much, even if I don’t always know exactly who that is._

Dressing up like this isn’t something he does all that often, but it’s not quite in the realm of the uncommon. For parties at Seventh Heaven, or the rare public event. Or just for his husband, though that usually leads into pursuits of the more…well…

Cloud gives a huffed exhale to clear his head and gives another cursory check over his outfit. Everything is sitting comfortably, zippers and ribbons laying flat in their proper place. He’ll need a jacket to protect against the winter winds, but those are all out in the hall closet.

The bedroom lights are turned off with a _click,_ and Cloud takes the five careful steps it takes to cross the small hall from the bedroom out into the warm light of the living room. On the doorframe, he pauses.

Draped across the couch like a particularly lovely mirage, Sephiroth is still like a statue. He’s dressed in a deep navy evening gown, one which coasts elegantly round the curves of his broad shoulders and falls straight down over his hips in a sheet of velvet. Small crystals have been sewn into the weave, giving the appearance of stars sparkling in an inky sky. His long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail with a crystal clasp, hanging to his knees in a sheet of shimmering grey. A simple silver necklace lays across his pale collarbones, a crescent moon charm dangling in the center.

An angel plucked from the starry heavens and placed down in Cloud’s living room. That’s the picture that his husband makes. 

It’s enough to make him stop to stand and stare in the doorway in the first place, just to drink in the sight of the man. He’s staring into space, facing away from Cloud and looking off into the fireplace. A half full glass of red wine sits next to him, probably forgotten in whatever contemplative trance he’s slipped into. 

_I hope his thoughts are happy._

Pulling an inhale to him like a shawl, Cloud steps into the living room and allows his heels to audibly click on the hardwood. “Sorry I took so long.” 

It’s a quarter to eight, and they should probably hurry if they don’t want to be fashionably late, an idea Cloud feels very much against on sheer principle. Not that Tifa or the others would mind much if they _were_ a little late, but it would be considerate to arrive slightly early to help set things up.

Startling slightly in his seat, merely a slight twitch of slender fingers, Sephiroth looks up at him, his green eyes wide and without design. “No, not at all.” He doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, gaze blatantly tracking Cloud as he moves across the room. It’s hard not to feel it like a physical touch, the way his husband’s stare maps out his silhouette and lingers gently on the details.

“It seems the two hours you spent getting ready did not go to waste.” It’s as much of a compliment as it is a tease, and even without looking at him, Cloud can hear the smile in his husband’s voice.

“Yeah, well. We can’t all have mile long legs and statuesque features.” Cloud opens the hall closet, shoving coats back and forth to find the ivory jacket that goes with his shoes. “Some of us can’t just throw on a bedsheet and look ravishing. We actually have to work to look good.” There’s a hint of self-deprecating humor to his voice. It’s nice that Sephiroth likes how he looks, but all things considered he’s more than a little homely.

Sephiroth, who _is_ one of those incredibly annoying people who looks good in absolutely everything with zero effort, tilts his head to the side and sends a cascade of silver down his side with the movement. “I’d have to disagree.” He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and Cloud curses the day anyone thought it would be a good idea to allow Sephiroth access to _high-heels._

For fucks sake. He must be nearing seven feet in those things.

Even so. He’s still...Cloud swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. At his deepest and most insane, Sephiroth had been an ethereal vision of inhuman rage, beautiful in the white hot madness that had flowed through him like a river.

Here, now, standing in Cloud’s living room in a blue evening dress, pink with the flush of humanity and wearing a deep burgundy lipstick that’s adorably smudged a bit on one side, Sephiroth is more radiant than any godhead he might have once tried to become.

Sephiroth is looking at him with something akin to bemusement. “Is there something on my face?” He asks, with the air of someone who is perfectly aware that there is nothing on his face.

_Damn him, and how even his smugness is unfairly gorgeous._

Cloud abandons his pursuit of the jacket and steps across the room towards him. Reaching up, it’s a simple matter to smooth out the edge of the smudged lip tint with his thumb, restoring order to the evenness of Sephiroth’s features. 

“There. You’re perfect.” It’s tempting to try to rise up to his tiptoes and try to steel a kiss like this, but frankly with the way that Sephiroth towers above him even more in heels, he’s not about to try and look stupid failing.

Wine dark lips curl upwards in a smile, and Cloud finds himself on the receiving end of the Cheshire Cat’s adoration. “I’d kiss you, but it would be a shame to ruin the picture standing before me.” 

A very real flush rises up behind the pink powder on his cheekbones. “Who says it would ruin it?” 

A few minutes later, Cloud’s lipstick is noticeably darker in tint, and a few flecks of pink sparkles cling to Sephiroth’s mouth. His husband doesn’t seem to mind, smiling like the cat who caught the canary. Cloud would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel the warmth of that same satisfaction, curling low in the depths of his chest.

There’s only a few last minute things to do before they leave, and Cloud busies himself turning the kitchen lights off and double checking that the stove is off. The Shepard’s pie he cobbled together using what he could remember of his mother’s recipe is sitting covered on the countertop, ready to be carried over to Seventh Heaven and reheated.

“You didn’t do anything to your hair.” 

Cloud starts slightly at the unexpected comment, and gives a half smile in response. “Only a fool doesn’t know when to accept that a task is impossible.” Seriously, trying to get his hair to do anything it doesn’t want to do is worse than herding wet cats. It’s not exactly elegant, to pay so much attention to the rest of his appearance and leave the blond spikes as they are, but it’s the most practical.

“Hmm…” Sephiroth stares at him a moment longer, before stepping away and back towards their bedroom. “Stay there.” 

In mingled confusion and curiosity, Cloud does as he’s told, staring down the hall after him. The way that Sephiroth’s long tail of hair sways along with the fabric around his legs is not unlike the motion of waves on the open sea.

His enhanced hearing picks up the sound of a drawer being open and shut, and Sephiroth reappears with one hand tucked slightly behind his back. 

“Are you going to ask me to close my eyes?” A smile weaves throughout the tease.

“Not if you don’t want to.” A hand reaches out for his elbow, and Cloud willingly lets himself be propelled towards the mirror in the hallway. “Just hold still for a moment.”

He does, and Sephiroth adjusts the hairpiece he brought from the bedroom. It’s a simple wire band, decorated with clear gemstones of the costume variety, but it’s sturdy enough and it catches the light well. It fits over his hair, framing his bangs and fitting in among the spikes easily.

“There. A shimmering crown for the faerie queen.”

“Shut up.” He can’t hide the smile the comment brings to his face, and the spark of delight in Sephiroth’s eyes is unmistakable. The shared laugh they partake in is sweeter and headier than any wine.

In return, he turns, tugging at Sephiroth’s shoulders until the man bends down far enough from him to place a sparkly kiss on his cheekbone. Sephiroth laughs warmly, and leaves the kiss mark there. It’s faint enough to not be noticed, after all.

He finally finds the ivory jacket, and Sephiroth helps him put it on. The act is more simply considerate than an attempt to be gentlemanly, and Cloud loves him all the more for it. He helps button up Sephiroth’s black wool coat in return, and the domesticity of the action settles like a clear warmth in his veins. 

“Ready?”

“After you.”

Packages and gifts taken up in arms and coats firmly buttoned, they finally set out into the snow. The New Year’s festivities of the night are due to begin soon.

Before closing the door behind them, Cloud takes a lingering glance around the apartment they share. The lights in the kitchen are turned off, but the hallway light remains on. The fire has been turned down to smoldering coals, a dim glow that lights up the living room in shadows.

On the wall to the right are some of their wedding photos, a small collection that somehow still takes up most of the empty wall space. The frames are all mismatched, but that simply lends itself to the color and variety among the images. The bookshelf is far from overflowing, but the volumes there are well loved, and the collection is ever growing. The recent Yuletide offerings have only added to it, courtesy of the rest of Avalanche.

It’s the ending of the year, the ringing in of a new one. There will be warm food and laughter and some assorted chaos, and half of Avalanche will probably get drunk twice as fast as they probably should. There will be singing and some gift exchanges spilling over from Yuletide, and most likely more than one incredibly exaggerated story about someone-or-other’s exploits in battle. 

And as the clock strikes midnight, he will kiss his husband silly as the party erupts around them, and the year will start anew in radiant color.

Cloud smiles at the thought of it. The winter air whipping around them is cold on his face and ears, but Sephiroth’s hand is warm within his own as they trudge through the snow in the direction of Seventh Heaven.

And that’s all anyone really needs, isn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/SEFIKURAS) || [tumblr](https://sephirothcrescent.tumblr.com/)


End file.
